Page 2 of Picking Daisies on Sundays

now it was too tight as I downed my second glass of spiked soda—courtesy of the hockey team that brought vodka—under the twinkly lights hanging around the overpriced prom venue.

Please don’t let that affect your opinion of me though because this wasn’t me. Drinking was not something I found pleasing by any means, and I definitely wasn’t someone who was known by the hockey team.

I saw Molly Ringwald do this in a film once for confidence so

I thought it couldn’t hurt. But as I watched Levi from a distance talking to a few friends, my stomach still clenched and pinched with anxiety. His dark grey suit clung to his long legs and made his dark hair and eyes look edgier than usual. He always had this cool look about him with his brown, curling hair, tall posture, and captivating hazel eyes.

My gaze must’ve been heavy because he glanced at me, catching me in the act. My heart stopped in panic, but he simply mouthed,heypunk,and winked at me, continuing on with his conversation.

Pushing my hand out to the concerningly mature-looking

hockey player for another drink, I swallowed it all before my mind could register the taste. I did come here with a (platonic) date by the name of Jeremiah. He was helping me figure out what to say to Levi tonight, resulting in an incredulously long note on my phone. Speaking of, where was he? The last time I had seen my phone, it was in his hand.

Crap, crap,crap. I couldn’t do this without him or the phone.

Why was my face wet? Running my hand across my cheek, I realized that I was crying. Of course I wasn’t a relieved, happy drunk, but a sad,anxiousdrunk.

Clutching my dress to avoid tripping, I rushed into one of the side hallways to pull myself together. Once I found privacy, my body relaxed and my tears flowed.Where was Jeremiah with my phone?

Tap, tap, tap.The tears in my eyes blur my vision enough that I couldn’t see the person approaching me, just the sound of their

shoes. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pray they just keep walking. Maybe if I closed my eyes, it’ll be as if no one sees the embarrassing mess sitting on the floor.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong, Daisy?”

Only three people in my life referred to me by my middle name, and only one of them was here.

My eyes opened on command at the sound of Levi’s voice, watching him crouch down on the floor in front of me with urgency. His hands immediately cupped my face, tilting it up, forcing me to meet his eyes, where I found that his own face looked distressed. My heart pounded harder in my chest, warming my cheeks at the feeling of his palms on my face.

This was too close; he was too close. Could he see my love for him painted across my face? Could he tell from the way I

shuddered when he touched me, that every fiber of my being was made to be touched by him?

How did we go from friends to this?

Tears refused to reel themselves in. But when I registered the absolute devastation on his face, my heart refilled with the hope that he may feel the same way.

Ten minutes later, he broke my heart. And I didn’t see him for four years.

1

how did I ever let time pass this long without seeing you?

"Jia, I’m not sitting at the table with them, I have no idea what they’re saying,” I whispered in a hushed tone from the coverage of the booth I was hiding in.

“Then what was the point of going!” Jia responded over the phone.

“To make sure Gabe doesn’t get murdered, of course,” I responded seriously, watching Gabe from across the restaurant on his date.

“You’re in the West Village, Dani, no one’s getting murdered. The only crime around here is the preposterous real estate prices,” Jia said matter-of-factly.

“We’re twenty-two, this is the prime murdering age.” I turned back to Gabe as he began furrowing his eyebrows. “Gabe’s giving me the look.”

“The look? —Wait, why are you dressed like you’re going on a date?” Jia said entirely off topic, commenting on my (apparently uncommon) blouse and jeans.

I turned around abruptly in my seat where I found Jia entering the restaurant. If you could call it entering; it was more like a hunched walk behind a menu to hide from Gabe’s date. I raised a discrete waving hand above my own menu to catch Jia’s attention.

“Where did you go?” I asked, turning my phone off and moving over in the booth making room for her. She had a maxi skirt on, leather boots, and a small top that just covered her chest. Her hair was naturally black, but it’s been dyed every color of the rainbow, changing it every season. It didn’t matter what she colored her hair though, because everything complemented her thin face and tall frame. This spring it was blonde. Her parents hated that she colored her hair, but her response was: “I work in fashion, it matches my job description.” A very Jia response—to me, of course, as she reiterated the conversation to me. No way in hell would she talk back to her parents.